Of Sunlit Silences and Crashing Waves
by the49thname
Summary: It's the summer of '61, clear blue skies with days spent listening to the jukebox over cheap food, nights spent cleaning up broken bottles, red hair with eyes forest green, love songs and hushed conversations by crashing waves. Laven AU, M rated for later chapters, possible other pairings.
1. Chapter 1: Ain't That A Kick In The Head

**Rating + warnings:** None for this chapter

**Author's note:** I can't tell you how excited I am over this, nor how much of a joy this is to write. The first chapter is for the Laven Week prompt, but don't worry - this is gonna be a long 'un. I'll update soon!

* * *

Every day starts and ends the same.

Alarm call sounds at 7am, bells tolling to signify the start of a new morning. Slumped feet and tired groans to the bathroom, freezing cold shower and clean teeth, breakfast if there's time.

And out the door, into the waking world.

Wave hello to the postman, shuffle to the car and start it. The engine roars to life, fingers dance over the dashboard to find a radio station. Feet tap as the street flies by, out-of-tune singing as the suburbs fade and the town comes into view. Park outside Lee's Diner, and into the fray of a busy working day.

The usual crowd. Chief of Police Howard Link takes a coffee black with a doughnut, or three if he can be persuaded; Froi Tiedoll sips tea while creating his new masterpiece in his leather-bound drawing book, pencil swaying this way-and-that; Daisya chats up the waitress Lenalee Lee, ordering a cola float with extra ice-cream; Yuu Kanda fights with anyone who orders, nearly assaults a few people; Komui Lee the manager fawns over his sister and "accidentally" spills coffee on anyone who eyes her up; Marie serves perfect dishes despite being completely blind, always smiling; the morning and lunchtime rushes die down by 5, until by 6:30 the working day has ended.

Shuffle to the car, yawning with weary feet, the journey home a blur. Wave to the neighbor, enter the house, avoid broken bottles and the temperamental drunk half-asleep on the couch. Eat whatever's in the fridge, read until eyes droop and sight grows fuzzy, clamber into bed and sleep.

And repeat.

This was the life of Allen Walker, as it had been and will always be, it seemed. Days, months, and years had passed in this fashion, and he never expected it to change.

At least until 5:55pm on a quiet Monday, June 10th, 1961.

It was closing time, the diner empty of customers and workers alike. Allen always ran the closing shift, since Cross insisted he work late. So there he stood alone, mid-afternoon sunshine filtering through open windows, cleaning counter-tops in sunlit silence. The jukebox sang its tune, perpetual 50s jazz and motown records. Motes of dust drifted along sunbeams, and it seemed almost dream-like in that quiet shadowed room.

The sound of a bell interrupted the reverie of room and man.

A customer at this hour could only mean one of two things: a tired stress businessman working late, eager for strong coffee and a moments rest; or a traveler just arrived from lands unknown. As Allen turned, hands resting against the counter-top, the young man stood in the doorway was most certainly the latter.

Footsteps on polished tiles echoed, hands tucked inside trouser pockets. Eyes forest green looked this way-and-that, gaze dancing from the empty tables to the jukebox in the corner, photographs and signed posters littering the walls, before settling on the young man stood behind the counter. Lips pulled into a smile.

"Were you closin'?"

There were such a mismatch of accents Allen couldn't place it; the subtle twang of a Texas drawl, a slight nasal tone from Boston's busy streets, a bit of mid-Atlantic, a dash of the South-west coast, and he swore he heard a bit of Minnesota there too. With a tilt of the head and slight upturning of lips the man seemed to sense the curious gaze fixed upon him. Realising a question had been left unanswered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"N-not just yet, sir. What can I get you?"

"Coffee, black no sugar'd be perfect."

Back turned, the clink of mugs and sound of pouring coffee broke the silence descending upon them.

"Dover."

"Pardon?"

Allen turned, mug in hand, blinking in confusion. The man seemed to find this amusing, head in his hands with lips pulled into a grin. It was his first proper look at the man; messy hair, copper in some lights and sunset orange in others, freckles dotted across nose and cheeks, green eyes. His looks were nothing extraordinary, but his clothes were another matter. Bright orange scarf, in hot summer weather no-less, accompanied with a dark green shirt and whiter-than-white trousers over polished shoes. But there was something else, something Allen couldn't put his finger on.

"I said Dover," he repeated. "Behind that typical American newsreader accent you've got quite the Kentish accent goin' there."

If he'd been slightly more surprised he would have dropped the mug in his hands.

"You've got quite the ear on you," Allen replied, handing the steaming mug of coffee to the man before him."I'd ask if we'd met before, but I think I would remember."

"Why's that?"

"You've got that sort of air about you."

For a while the stranger sipped from his coffee, gaze contemplative and curious. As silence descended, not quite comfortable but not discomforting either, the sun continued to set behind nearby rooftops. Tiles grew ethereal in a soft fiery light, shadows lengthening across parked cars and empty roads. The soft sounds of Dinah Washington crooning _What Diff'rence A Day Makes_ filled and seeped into brick and mortar, a dreamy Summer evening with fading sunshine and motes of dust for company.

All was clean and clear, ready for a new day like always. The young soul behind the counter was one and the same, the mess cleared away at the end of each day, starting anew on the 'morrow. In the sunlit silence of that Summer evening silver eyes grew weary and dim, a long hard day taking its toll.

Footsteps reminded him that he was not alone in that tiny diner hall, and as he stirred into wakefulness he noticed the redheaded traveler stood before the jukebox, coin in hand, fingers tapping on worn buttons to shift the motor inside.

With a quiet hum of approval music began to play, an upbeat jazz number with trumpets blaring and the melodic tenor of Dean Martin. Grinning, the man returned to the counter-top, fingers tapping in time to the beat. Allen couldn't help but smile, eyes closing as the opening of _Ain't That A Kick In The Head _began to play. Not being all too fond of jazz this song was one of the few exceptions, having sung it a few times on bleary morning drives to work.

The man sat before him began to sing, which startled Allen out of his brief reverie. His eyes were closed, voice soft, feet and fingers tapping against counter-top and floor. When his eyes opened, catching Allen's gaze, he sang even louder, extending a hand to invite the other to join. His voice was low and husky, full of an emotion that stirred your heart and placed a smile upon your lips. He was good, and Allen feared he'd ruin it by adding his voice to the ensemble.

But this man, with his infectious smiles and amused eyes of forest green, had instilled a feeling deep inside that felt like a bird used to being caged, finally stretching its wings, letting the wind take it where it will. Soon the pair were singing, and that quiet sunlit diner was full of a brilliance that was almost beautiful in its intensity. Silver met green, and with smiles that hurt the cheeks the song reached its end with a final blare of trumpets.

Allen briefly wondered if he should be embarrassed, entertained, or bashful, but the bright laughter of the man before him, eyes closed with hands wrapped around a cooling mug of coffee, left only a feeling of being alive, so alive it almost hurt. And he liked it.

"Say, I never got your name," he asked, catching back his breath with cheeks flushed.

"Lavi."

It was an odd name, but it had a curious ring to it as you said it.

"Well Lavi, I have to say you really have quite a voice there."

The laughter that followed didn't make him feel embarrassed, as it usually would have done.

"I'm glad you think so, otherwise I'd be out of a job. And what shall I call you?"

"Allen, Allen Walker."

"Well Allen, you also have quite the voice."

"Aw shucks, not really." His cheeks were burning and he couldn't tell if it was from bashfulness or pride.

For a moment they stayed like that, sat in amiable silence in the wake of a feeling that couldn't be named. It was getting close to 6:30, close to having to flip the sign at the door and return to normality; the usual routine. But Allen found he didn't want to, for something about this man had him enthralled, and he couldn't quite let it go now it had found purchase in his heart.

But it seemed Lavi had somewhere to be, for after drinking the dregs of his coffee he stood, heading towards the door. The life that had momentarily taken hold was fading, and Allen's smile fell to one of barely concealed disappointment. But the man turned, smiling with a softness that you felt as well as saw with the eyes, and said three words that lifted Allen's spirits more than he could put into words.

"Be seeing you, Allen."

And in that sunlit diner, door shutting as Lavi walked away, Allen Walker felt a smile grace his lips.

"Be seeing you, Lavi."


	2. Chapter 2: Surrender

**Rating + warnings:** None for this chapter

**Author's note:** This is for the last prompt of Laven Week, being silence. I'm sorry it's a day late ;; I don't really know where I'm going with the plot, other than slowly building the relationship between Lavi and Allen, and I guess showing the change in Allen's life from the monotony he's lived with for so long. I'll try and update as soon as I can!

* * *

Bells.

That was the first thought that entered his head. The second was that if he ignored said bells that he could return to the bliss that is dreamless sleep, buried in the warmth of thick blankets and pillows. The third was, in resigned acceptance, that unfortunately the bells signified having to join the waking world.

And so Allen got up, groaning.

A hand fumbled for the alarm clock, eventually finding the button that shut off the ringing bells that sounded every morning at 7am. Yawning, rubbing silver eyes clean of sleep and fading tiredness, Allen sat up and looked around blearily in early-morning sunshine.

He'd always thought his room was more of a temporary residence than a permanent one. An alarm clock sat at a bedside table, a lamp that worked if it felt inclined to do so, a chest of drawers by a window in dire need of cleaning, filled with clothes collected over the years; hand-me-downs and second hand items, which all had found their home with a boy much too small for their size. A poster from a nearby circus that had passed many years ago, something he remembered fondly, and a record player were the last items in the small white-walled room belonging to Allen Walker. He had never felt at home here, for one reason or another. The only thing that had stayed with him all these years, passed from house to house, were the record player and circus poster.

Both had belonged to Mana, once upon a time, and they served as a reminder that anyplace Allen stayed could be home if he had those items with him.

It was with much reluctance that he left his warm bedsheets, the cold of a summer morning raising goosebumps across his uncovered skin. With sluggish footsteps he walked to the bathroom, tiles cold against bare feet. And then began the next trial of the morning; deciding on whether he could stay in the shower and not leave its warm comfort, or if he really had to go back out into the cold room outside. Eventually reason won, though barely, and eventually Allen stood dressed in the usual uniform downstairs, brunette hair messy and wet. Tuesdays were late starts at the diner, so he took the time to relish eating a slice of toast, back against the kitchen counter as the rising sun lit up the room.

Again, like his room upstairs, the place was furnished enough to be a place to live in, but plain enough to not feel much like home. Everything was painted in white and baby blue, matching the uniform he wore, which had been the source of much amusement for the first month or two. There were empty bottles, half-filled bottles, opened but mostly full bottles, littering the room from floor to countertop. Allen scarcely noticed the mess, having realised soon after living with his carer that anything cleared away would soon be replaced come nightfall.

It was why Allen didn't mind where he worked, despite the busyness and meagre wages. It felt like home, with its sunset-orange painted walls and posters stuck to every wall, red leather seats and jukebox at-the-ready with music for the day. That place held more life and feeling than the white-washed walls of home.

So, brushing the crumbs off his shirt, Allen headed out the front door into a new day. It was already growing warmer, dewdrops evaporating off blades of grass. The lawn needed mowing, which he already knew would be his job when he had the time, but for now it seemed almost beautiful in the soft light of a morning sun. His car, which he still treasured beyond compare despite owning it for a few years by this point, sat covered in glittering drops of water from nightly rain. Each drop reflected the morning sunshine, a rainbow of colour amongst the spotless white of the Chevrolet sat in the driveway. A small silver key unlocked the door, and started the ignition, and soon enough Allen was pulling away into a quiet suburban street, eyes focused on the road but fingers and mind already at work finding a radio station.

The cheerful voice of Don McNeill on his usual Breakfast Club broadcast filled the car, discussing weather warnings and the newest updates of Kennedy's campaign. Allen paid little attention, not being all that interested in national affairs, but when the opening of Elvis's Surrender began to play fingers began to tap on the steering wheel, voice humming. As he began to sing, accelerating down mostly empty streets, Allen found himself remembering the day before. Lips pulled into a smile at the memory; the sun setting, with fiery light filling the quiet diner, the smell of coffee and the sound of Dean Martin playing on the jukebox, two figures sat singing to their heart's content. It was a good memory, something that made him feel light and content. How peculiar it seemed, that one day could make all the difference in a life that never seemed to change.

As Allen left the suburbs, heading towards the town nearby, he wondered what would come of such a day.

By the time he pulled into Lee's diner, parking in the small lot opposite the building, he felt happier than he had done in months, perhaps even years. Humming, keys swinging in hand, Allen crossed the road and entered the diner across from him. It had all the usual customers, all sat in their usual seats, and they greeted him with a nod of the head and cheerful greetings, like always. Lenalee gave a bright smile as she said hello, but she seemed almost surprised when she received one in return.

"What's lifted your spirits, Mr. Gloomy," she teased, lightly elbowing him in the side. Allen shrugged, still smiling.

"It's just a good day is all."

And that's all Lenalee received for an answer, but it seemed enough for she simply smiled and made her rounds, skirt swaying as she walked. Despite her brother, the manager, detesting the men whose gazes followed her across the diner, she was a beautiful young woman. Long dark hair, tied in side ponytails with ribbon, a collared dress that hung to the knees, cherry red with white; she matched the cherry and cream milkshakes that were popular with the customers. Cheerful smiles and eyes that always seemed full of life kept people enthralled, and even Allen admitted to finding himself staring, following the beautiful girl with her beautiful smiles. She was the life of the diner, and without her it simply wouldn't be the same.

Kanda, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. In fact, Allen never really understood why he even had a job. He was always grumpy, face set in a permanent frown. Anyone who talked to him received a blunt, and at times rude, remark in reply, and there were too many customers to count whom he had argued with over one thing or another. He and Allen had been at each other's throats for years, never getting on and rarely working well together. Marie broke up countless pointless fights, and in the end being shut in the cleaning cupboard for a Saturday afternoon resolved their issues, for the most part, both boys leaving it black-and-blue but at least on better terms.

Now they at least didn't try to kill each other on a daily basis, and Kanda greeting him with a glare and mutter of quiet insults signified he was in a "good" mood by his standards.

"Stop smiling, it's irritating," he grumbled, slamming the register shut with the back of one hand, carrying a plate of waffles with the other. Allen simply smiled even more, arms folded.

"And a good morning to you as well, Kanda."

"Shut it, I have no time for you being overly-happy and annoying today."

"I'm not being overly-happy."

"Come off it beansprout."

"I am not a beansprout!"

"Kanda, take that order out to table 23 and stop fighting."

Marie was the only one Kanda seemed to listen to, so with a begrudging expression he walked away from the counter, hair swaying behind him. Allen sighed, but even Kanda couldn't ruin the good mood gracing him this day.

"It's good to see you happy, Allen."

And with that Marie returned to the busy kitchen, head disappearing behind swinging double doors. Allen had no idea why his happiness was a surprise, since he didn't feel as if he was in a bad mood most of the time, but the steadily increasing stream of customers soon took all his focus away from such matters.

The lunchtime rush arrived, and soon the diner was full of people. Allen mainly stayed at the register, taking payments and hurrying orders that were late, but on busy days he helped Kanda and Lenalee serve food and take orders. It was then, close to 2pm, that he looked around for new customers and saw red hair, an orange scarf.

The feeling from yesterday, unnamed but unmistakable with how it gripped his heart, returned with a swiftness that made Allen feel giddy. Walking to the table, in the far corner of the busy room, he felt himself smiling brightly at the man he'd met the day before, who was sat with his nose buried in a menu.

"I didn't expect to see you here today, Lavi."

Startled, the redhead looked up. When he recognised Allen he grinned, putting the menu down with a flourish.

"I was told anyone new in town had to eat Lee's diner's famous California burger," he explained. Again his voice struck Allen as odd, like all the places this man had seen had come home with him in the way he spoke. "So here I am."

"It is a very good burger. What can I get for you?"

"I'll take the California Burger with curly fries, and whatever milkshake you can recommend."

"Well, cherry's our most popular choice, but the butterscotch one would be the one I'd pick."

"A butterscotch milkshake it is then."

They exchanged smiles, both falling into a comfortable and amiable silence. The diner was full of noise, from the customers discussing things amongst themselves, the shouts from the kitchen, the music playing from the jukebox, the sound of cars driving past outside. But between them was a silence that seemed a distance apart from the noise around them.

"I better get your order to the kitchen," Allen said eventually, noting down Lavi's order on a small notepad. "It won't take long."

Lavi nodded, resting his head in the palm of one hand, the other tapping lightly on the tabletop. Curious eyes observed the brunette beside him, drifting from the loose fitting white trousers to a spotless shirt of the same colour, collar and cuffs baby blue. Lips pulled into a smirk at the somewhat cute hat worn atop brown locks, the silver eyes narrowed in concentration. When Allen looked up, catching the curious stare being sent his way, he felt his cheeks start to burn.

"I'll be right back."

And with that he headed to the kitchen, stealing a look over his shoulder as he walked away. He could've sworn he saw Lavi wink, but brushed the thought away as soon as it arrived. Pushing open heavy double doors, the searing heat of the kitchen enveloped Allen in an instant. How Marie and Jerry, his assistant chef, worked in such conditions was beyond him. Allen stepped forward, ripping the front page off his notepad and sticking it atop the metal serving table.

"Order for table 49."

Marie, busy flipping burgers at the nearby grill, gave a nod to show he'd heard. Jerry turned and gave a little wave, smiling.

"Will you be wanting your lunch order soon, honey?"

"Yes, that'd be nice thank you! I'll have the usual."

With a nod and flourish of his apron Jerry returned to his work, Allen his. The usual lunch order was huge, bigger than what the other workers requested, but Jerry seemed to enjoy cooking for him. Returning to his duties, time passed quickly. More customers came and went, and soon enough Lavi's order was done and ready to be served. Lenalee, simply seeing an order needed serving, left the kitchen and nearly passed the main counter before Allen stopped her, hurriedly shoving money into the register and slamming it shut.

"A-ah, may I?"

Lenalee tilted her head, gaze questioning. When she noticed how his eyes flickered from a spot near her shoulder to the table in the far corner she seemed to understand, lips upturned.

"Sure, but you're not off-duty until 6 so don't let Komui catch you loitering."

And, passing the plate over with a wink, she left to return to the busy kitchen. Sighing, but feeling a relief he didn't entirely understand, Allen weaved his way around tables until he reached Lavi's. He was sat, lips wrapped around a chewed straw, gaze fixed on the various posters and photos stuck to the walls. Allen placed the plate before him, trying not to laugh as the surprised man jumped, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"California burger with curly fries. Can I get you anything else?" Every word was laced with scarcely hidden amusement.

"A-ah, another milkshake would be great, thanks."

Lavi's bashful expression, from the flushed cheeks to how his eyes refused to meet Allen's, earnt a laugh from the brunette trying in vain not to do so. Soon a childish pout was added to the ensemble.

Walking away, unable to stop smiling, Allen soon returned with a frosted glass, filled with creamy butterscotch and vanilla ice-cream, adorned with whipped cream and a cherry. Lavi was still pouting.

"Would you like anything else?"

"Yeah, stop making me feel the fool darn it!"

"I do apologise, sincerely."

"If your apology was sincere then pigs could fly."

Allen couldn't help but laugh, raising a hand to try and hide his amusement. If Lavi's smile and laughter had been infectious, Allen's was even more so. It was a different sort of mirth; the former came from someone who felt merry often, smiles and laughter not far behind each word. But the latter was the sort of rarity that was hard to come by, leaving you feeling as if you'd heard and seen something you'd never experience in quite the same way again.

Silence descended once more, silver eyes meeting green, and in that short moment a sort of understanding passed between them, something unspoken. And in that short moment Allen knew he couldn't walk away, back to his usual counter and usual routine. No, something new had come along and he simply could not let it go.

"Say, I'm about to go on my lunch break. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Lavi seemed surprised at the question, head tilting to one side, eyes narrowing. After a while his face seemed to brighten, lips upturned.

"Sure."

And with that Allen turned, making his way between busy tables back to the familiar counter and kitchen doors. He didn't notice Lenalee's eyes fixed on him as he entered through double doors, nor the smile she gave at his giddy happiness. Kanda, stood beside her, shared her curiosity at their companion's elated spirits but simply grunted and turned away.

He had no interest in such things, nevermind why the company of a stranger was enough to bring happiness to someone who'd spent most of his life in a state of apathetic melancholy.

Soon enough Allen returned with several plates balanced on hand and in the crooks of his arms. He had an appetite to be marvelled at, which Lavi soon realised when the brunette sat opposite him. What appeared to be most of the menu sat on their small table, which was reduced to nothing in record time.

"I was goin' to ask how you were gonna eat all that, but it seems you've already answered that question yourself."

Allen simply smiled, patting his now sated stomach.

"I've always had a big appetite, I guess I'm just used to it."

"I'll say. Where d'you put it all though, I mean you're as skinny as anythin'."

"Fast metabolism?"

Lavi laughed, resting his head in the palm of each hand.

"If I ate that much I'd be as big as a house!"

"I guess I'm just lucky then. But anyway, what brings you here?" Allen's voice took on a curious edge, attention focused on the man before him.

"Here? As in the diner?"

"No, the area. I mean, it's pretty obvious you're not from around these parts."

Lavi seemed confused by his companion's genuine and sincere curiosity.

"Naw, I'll just end up boring you," he replied, waving his hands before him, expression bashful. Allen leant forward, smiling brightly.

"I doubt it. You seem interesting to me."

Cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but eventually Lavi found his voice and began to speak.

"Well I'm a travelling musician, you see, so I tend to start somewhere and earn enough money to move on, and then I go elsewhere."

"I can imagine you've seen a lot of different places then."

"Sure have."

"Tell me about them."

Again Lavi froze, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Allen seemed to notice and seemed slightly embarrassed, looking to one side with a slight flush to his cheeks.

"I'm just some small-town guy who's never gone further than the store near home. We don't really get anyone new around here, s-so…"

His voice drifted off, fingers tapping nervously on the sides of his chair. He avoided Lavi's gaze, fixed on the empty table beside them. Worry took hold and left his chest feeling heavy, and the usual doubt that he was appearing weird and unsightly left him unable to speak.

As the silence only seemed to increase in length, Allen nearly stood up and tried to think of some form of excuse to leave until soft laughter interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"I doubt we'd have time over a lunch break for me to talk about it all, ya know?" Lavi seemed sincere, and something about the smile he gave made Allen's stomach flip. He continued to avoid the other's gaze, fingers tightly gripping his chair.

"I see…"

Disappointment sank its claws into his heart, and he felt a lump form in his throat. What was wrong with him? A stranger's rebuke shouldn't affect him so, but he couldn't seem to comfort himself with such a fact.

"But, if you want, we could go get some coffee sometime and talk about it then. Plus, I'd like to hear about your small town, even if you think it's nothin' much."

Surprise replaced dampened spirits, and Allen looked up wide-eyed to meet green eyes filled with mirth. Unable to form words, he simply nodded and flushed with embarrassment as Lavi began to laugh.

The feeling from yesterday, unexplainable and unspoken, crept in and left both of them filled with an elation that left their hearts light and unburdened with doubt. Allen found himself laughing alongside his companion, and a few sat nearby wondered what joke had left them nearly crying with mirth. Yet it was a beautiful sight, and as Lenalee served a nearby table she felt just as light upon hearing it.

But the diner was still busy, still full of customers waiting to be served and attended to, and Allen knew he was needed back at his station. A few questions and answers later and a time and date had been set, and as Allen left Lavi alone at his small table he couldn't help but feel that life had begun to change.

If this change would prove good or bad, he had yet to find out. But, for now, his caged and weary heart was free, shaking off years of dust and monotony that had sunk in deep to his very soul. For now, he felt ready for something to change.

The rest of the day sped by, orders and faces blurring into one as each hour passed until 6pm arrived, the usual closing routine, leaving the diner empty and ready for another day. Allen half-expected the door to open, bell ringing, a redheaded stranger with infectious smiles rambling in. But no singing amongst sunset-lit tables would be occurring this day, and almost disappointed Allen flipped the sign at the door from open to closed, locking it behind him as he walked to his car, key in hand.

The drive home was quiet, radio turned off, mind hardly registering the streets that flew by as he drove home. In the wake of the giddy elation from earlier was a feeling that could only be described as a mix of excitement and worry. Excitement at meeting someone new, someone interesting, someone interested in him enough to want to speak and laugh and sing with him; someone to break him free from the monotony that had gripped him tightly all these years. But worry was also present, worry that this would not prove to be fortuitous in the end.

But Mana had always told him to take what life gave you, no matter what it brought at the end, because life was lived by taking chances and taking leaps into situations with both feet.

So Allen jumped, both feet landing on ground that would soon prove to be steady or otherwise.

He hardly registered that he was standing before his front door, key at the ready. Shaking his head, clearing his thoughts, he twisted the key in his hand into the lock and opened the door. Early evening sunlight had coloured the walls with fire, and all seemed quiet as he entered the kitchen, dropping his keys onto the circular dining table, barely used. Cross never ate with him, and cooked meals eaten with company were practically non-existent. So Allen went through the normal motions of his evening; scrounging what he could from the fridge, usually sandwiches made with stale bread and meat close to turning foul. He ate so much at lunch to compensate for this, for he knew the money made from whatever job his carer had would be spent on drink, and his own wages were spent cleaning up the messes of whatever debt Cross had thrust upon him.

He barely saw the bad-tempered red haired man that "took care" of him, since he took care of himself more often than not. Sometimes, late at night when sleep refused to come, he'd hear the man downstairs; the clinking of glass bottles, drunken mutterings, occasionally a smash as something was broken through anger or accident. It was rare to see him in the morning, if not just to see his comatose figure under a blanket on the living room couch. It was even rarer still to see him in the evening, sober (or as sober as Cross could be) and sat on the kitchen counter, smoking one of his foul-smelling cigarettes. On these occasions they usually remained in silence, stony and resentful on Allen's part. He could count on one hand the times he'd had a conversation with the man during the 4 years they'd shared a house, of which the most recent time ended in broken bottles and bruises fading on his arms.

He didn't hate the man, but he hated the empty feeling that filled the house from head-to-toe. He missed the nights spent eating meatloaf and baked potato, laughter over the day's happenings, talks over cooling coffee on the back porch. But he almost didn't want that sort of life with his carer; it wouldn't be the same.

Sighing, heart heavy, Allen trudged upstairs to his room, slumping onto the bed with a huff. Sinking into bedsheets, he found his gaze drifting to the circus poster on the wall, morose and nostalgic. Getting up, hands clenched at his side, Allen walked to the opposite wall and rested his forehead against it, eyes closing.

"I hope things begin to change, Mana..."


End file.
